


Love By Pumpkin Light

by AlwaysJohn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A moment of angst, Always a Happy Ending, And a couple of boos, Fluff, Kisses and Cuddles, M/M, Rory the Skull - Freeform, Three dozen pumpkins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-10 23:29:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16464392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysJohn/pseuds/AlwaysJohn
Summary: Love By Pumpkin Light just about says it all.





	Love By Pumpkin Light

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by these snippets of dialogue from Beauty and the Beast (1987) in an episode named “Masques.”
> 
> “The brain tells you all the sensible things to do, but the heart knows nothing about sense, and the heart is as stubborn as the Irish.” 
> 
> "In the Old Religion they call it Samhain. It's a night when the walls between the worlds grow thin, and spirits of the Underworld walk the earth. A night of masks and balefires, when anything is possible and nothing is quite as it seems."

Sherlock turned off all the lights and drew the draperies together. Sweeping the sitting room with his gaze, he nodded with satisfaction at the placement of the assortment of carved pumpkins with their candles glowing through fierce grins. Not one to celebrate such a ridiculous so-called holiday, he’d set aside his own misgivings...for John.

John had worked long hours at the surgery, a fortnight now, and as the days passed, he’d grown more weary, most nights falling asleep against Sherlock’s shoulder and mumbling something about getting too old. Each morning he’d offered heartfelt apologies for the loss of their time together. 

This night, Halloween, was to be the last on his schedule for the foreseeable future. Sherlock expected him home by half five, but, glancing at his watch, it was now just after six. 

Dinner, thanks to Mrs. Hudson, was in the warming drawer for serving at seven when the thud of the door downstairs and slow, heavy footsteps on the stairs announced John’s arrival. 

Sherlock moved into the kitchen, secreting himself behind the door that stood ajar. From there he could view John as he paused on the landing, his hand resting on the knob of the sitting room door.

“Sherlock?” John called in a voice heavy with exhaustion. “So, not home.” He sighed, disappointment shadowing his tired, much-loved face and the sad slump of his shoulders.

At the sight, any plan he’d had to step out of the shadows to spring a “Happy Halloween,” was quickly aborted. It was just not on. Instead, Sherlock stepped back into the kitchen, lingering at the sliding glass panels behind John’s chair.

Considering John’s very good soldier instincts were tempered by his exhaustion, Sherlock was able to hide in plain sight as he waited for John to walk through the door.

“Oh.”

Those blunted instincts and John’s obvious surprise at the display of pumpkins allowed Sherlock to approach John from behind. Wrapping his arms around him, he pressed a kiss to his temple even as he grimaced at the quick twitch of surprise and the exhale that followed as John leaned back against him.

“Boo,” Sherlock whispered against John’s ear.

“Sherlock, you’re here.”

“Of course.”

“You did all this-”

“Yes.”

“For me?”

“There is no one else for whom I would do this.”

“But you don’t celebrate pagan...or any other belief.”

“I choose to celebrate you, John Hamish Watson. Did you know that in the Old Religion they call it Samhain? It's a night when the walls between the worlds grow thin, and spirits of the Underworld walk the earth. A night of masks and balefires, when anything is possible and nothing is quite as it seems.”

“I-”

“Of course, my apologies. Your heritage is Celtic, you know the lore.”

John turned to him, wrapping his arms about his waist. “Thank you, love, this is very thoughtful.”

“Come, I’ll run you a bath so you can relax. Dinner will keep.”

John held his wrist. ”Wait, Sherlock, I-”

Sherlock rested his chin on the top of John’s fair head, inhaling deeply John’s unique, earthy scent. “You showered at the surgery ...and packed a change of clothing?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“So I wouldn’t spare any time from you. I’ve been missing you these last two weeks. Never again.”

Sherlock sniffed and swiped at his eye prickles with the back of his hand. “It’s no wonder I love you.”

John tipped his face up for a kiss. “What’s for dinner?” he said against Sherlock’s mouth.

“I don’t know. Mrs. Hudson prepared our dinner, set it in the warming drawer and told me to take it out at seven. And there’s an enormous Knickerbocker Glory dessert we can share.”

“Bless Mrs. Hudson.”

“Indeed, John.”

“Dinner?”

“Starving.”

Sherlock helped John out of his jacket and shoes and with fingers entwined, guided him to the kitchen, pulling out a chair for him. “Would you prefer to dine by pumpkin light?”

“Yes, of course. Sherlock?”

“Hmm?”

“There are at least two dozen pumpkins here.”

“Three.”

“Three dozen? Where did you get them?”

“I have sources.”

“Did you carve them all yourself?”

“Noooo?”

“Are there pumpkin carver hires in London?”

“Not exactly, John, no.”

Sherlock set the table quickly, keeping John in his chair with a stern look when he tried to help. “Sit.”

“So, how many of them did you carve?”

“Oh, for god’s sake, John, what does it matter?”

John looked down at his hands and was silent for several long, agonising moments. When he looked up, the hurt in his eyes was more than Sherlock could endure. 

“I’m tired, I think I’ll just go to bed.”

“No!” Feeling flustered for the first time in longer than he could remember, Sherlock fell to his knees, wriggling in between John’s thighs and holding him tight against his chest. “I’m sorry, John, I’m sorry I was cross. Please, I know you’re tired, exhausted, really, but would you please stay and have dinner with me? Please?”

Breath held, Sherlock waited for a response until he couldn’t wait another moment. Lifting John’s head with a curled finger beneath his chin, he blinked back tears when John finally held his gaze.

“Sorry,” John whispered with barely a breath.

His fingers fluttered over John’s face. He kissed each corner  
of his mouth, his nose, his eyes and his mouth again for good measure.

“No, John, I was wrong to snap. I’m sorry. Please, forgive me? Will you stay?”

John nodded slowly, a single tear dribbled down one cheek. Sherlock kissed it away.

They ate, side by side, Sherlock’s left hand holding John’s right, trading looks and sidelong glances. 

Later, cuddled together on the sofa, John’s head against Sherlock’s shoulder, the candles in the pumpkins blinked out one by one. When there was only the one grinning at them from the mantle, John was asleep.

Rearranging himself enough to scoop John into his arms, Sherlock carried him toward the bedroom, stopping near the mantle as the last candle flickered out.

“Good night, pumpkin.” Shifting his gaze to the skull, he smiled fondly. “Goodnight friend, well, I say friend..”

Tucking John into bed, and pulling the duvet up under his chin, Sherlock finally slipped in beside him. Curling himself around his doctor, he pressed a soft kiss to John’s mouth. John stirred just enough to return the kiss.

“Goodnight John. Happy Halloween.”

“Sherlock?”

“Yes, my love?”

“Boo.”

And in the dark, Sherlock smiled.


End file.
